


Marquette

by tzzzz



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Amnesia, BDSM, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Multi, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Steampunk, Victorian Attitudes, Women's Rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzzzz/pseuds/tzzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Jennifer McKay decides to surprise her husband with the purchase and training of a body servant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer finds a body slave for her husband.

The streets are noisy today - full of street vendors and artists and pick pockets. They are flush with excitement from the first days of spring. Jennifer remembers not long ago when she heard the crowds cheering for the first ship breaking through the thin ice of the lake, marking the flood of cheap supplies, rare goods from Europe and the Orient, and renewed opportunities for jobs down by the docks and at the stockyards.

She has little interest in the hoards today, other than to pass through the stench of the 20th ward without soiling another perfectly good dress. This one was a gift from Rodney, in the early days of their courtship, before he realized that it’s best to let Jennifer pick her own fashions. It’s old-fashioned, with a stiff crinoline that poofs out behind her, and the black leather of the bodice is soft and worn. But it’s already a soot-colored grey and, like any gift from Rodney, it opens beneath the neck clasp to show off Jennifer’s breasts. She pulls her coat tight around her, careful to not look even more out of place down here mixing with the streetfolk.

“In the interest of science,” Jennifer reminds herself. She has to remind Rodney, too. It’s the only argument she can make to let her travel alone down here, but she rightfully pointed out that a mechanical carriage and an entourage would make her even more of a target and that nobody at the University needs to know that Lady McKay was visiting the slums in search of indentures.

The building itself is nothing more than an inconspicuous shabby green door leading in off a street of shabby shops and shabbier doors, stained with soot and sweat and the city. Jennifer takes a quick look at the crowd, not that she’d see a single familiar soul here, before knocking firmly three times. The door swings open almost instantly, revealing Mr. Chauvin, smiling his gap-toothed smile and kissing her hand, despite the elbow-length leather glove in his way. Jennifer’s glad not to feel the grime from his face against her skin.

“Here to view the merchandise, Little Miss?” he snorts. Jennifer visits him at least twice a season, but he’s amused by her every time, pretending as though she is nothing but a little girl when he knows she is a Lady, a doctor who apprenticed to one of the finest surgeons in town, and one of his best customers.

“I hope you have something good for me.” She follows him down a narrow walkway to a metal gate that marks the true entrance to Mr. Chauvin’s emporium of bodies. It’s still chilly in the building, even out of the wind, but Jennifer lets Mr. Chauvin take her coat anyway. Showing a little cleavage never hurt a deal.

“Right this way, Madame.” Normally, Mr. Chauvin would leave her on the spartan chase lounge in the derelict waiting room and parade his latest finds in front of her, but today he is eagerly fumbling with the key to the back rooms. “We just got a new shipment in with the steamship from New Amsterdam. Haven’t had time to process the lot, so we’ll have to view them in their cages, I’m afraid. I can have the merchandise delivered to your door after the screening and the quarantine is sorted out.”

Jennifer has never been in the back rooms before, but she is not surprised by what she sees. She selected Mr. Chauvin for his organized protocols and adherence to the medically recommended treatment of chattels. The walkway between the cages is narrow, but there is 15 feet of empty space between the line that marks the walkway and the cages themselves.

Mr. Chauvin leads Jennifer all the way down to the end, to a large, communal cage that holds six healthy-looking men in their twenties. They stand and wave to her. These are the kinds of indentures that Jennifer is interested in purchasing. “How long are their contracts?”

“Three years each. The Boatman pulled ‘em right out of the gang violence in New Amsterdam - offered them a chance to work in the Stockyards. These boys were right to spot the crackdown that was coming. I heard the police burned that slum not long after they left.”

Jennifer rolls her eyes. She doesn’t know if Mr. Chauvin’s theatrics are for her or the young men in the cage, but he’s in the same position to know about the slums of New Amsterdam as he is to discover a new element on the periodic table. Chauvin might like to think of his brokering as a way to save young men and debtors from the violence of the streets, but Jennifer knows the truth of it - that it’s just another way for the fortunate in this world to abuse the circumstances of the less fortunate. Not that Jennifer objects. She doubts she would be able to find willing test subjects without the indenture.

“You work for the Union Boys, m’lady?” One of the indentured calls out. They all stare at her like a dog stares at a bone, but Jennifer knows better to acknowledge it. She can’t help but flushing a little, making herself stand taller and more commanding. She has a title and many accomplishments under her belt, but sometimes she feels every bit her young 25 years.

Luckily, Mr. Chauvin is quick to put the boy in his place, reaching down to pull on a lever attached to the chain on the boy’s ankle. With a pneumatic hiss, the chain yanks the boy until he slams down against the floor. “The Boatman is falling down on the job, if you haven’t learned this lesson yet: your life is my property and it may soon be the property of this fine lady. You don’t get a choice who I sell you to and you sure as hell do not get to ask questions.”

The boy pushes himself up, nodding. He has fiery red hair and broad shoulders. He’s on the skinny side - they all are, but Jennifer can tell that he’ll fill out nicely with a couple weeks worth of hearty meals.

“How many are you looking for this time?” Mr. Chauvin asks, ignoring the curious stares from the cage.

“I’m starting a new round of trials in a few weeks,” Jennifer replies. She just released the indentures on three of her subjects, but there are still five back at the house. “Three of these young men will do, but I would appreciate it if you come across any women - older, kitchen maids with no serious ‘profession.’”

Chauvin’s missing tooth seems to taunt her when he laughs. “None of the wenches I see through here could compete with you, m’Lady.”

Chauvin is right - not as many female indentures come to Marquette as men. The stockyards and the ever-expanding construction needs of the city are a big draw. Maids and washing-women are generally paid, and a respectable lady would never seek out a wet nurse in a place like this.

“Should I send over the healthiest three after they’ve passed quarantine?” Chauvin asks, hopefully. As though Jennifer would allow him such discretion.

“No need,” Jennifer replies, reaching into the small medical case she carries with her to pull out a different set of gloves and a vaccum mask that Rodney designed specifically for her. It may be overkill, considering that Chauvin’s boatman also keeps most of his ship quarantined. “I’ll examine them myself.”

“As you wish.”

Chauvin pulls another lever that opens the cell door. These boys are not like some of the other riff-raff leaning up against the bars of their cages - they will not try to escape the life they signed up for. In fact, they line up, waiting to be examined.

Jennifer is almost done with her first exam when she notices it - a slight movement of what she had assumed was a lump of blankets on the pallet in the back of the cage. She quickly steps back, tripping over the elaborate structure of her dress. The red-haired indenture catches her, but doesn’t speak.

“It’s okay, m’Lady,” the one she had been examining offers, shyly looking back at Chauvin where he stands outside the quarantine zone. “He’s not ill. Nothing contagious, at least.”

“Who?” Jennifer asks, shooting an angry glare back at Chauvin.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” he says, even though they both know it was a deliberate omission. “Along with this shipment I received an additional . . . ‘gift,’ shall we say. The boy is quite right. He’s not contagious. And, he’s not to your specifications. I wouldn’t bother.”

But Jennifer is curious now, stalking up to the mass of blankets and pulling them back to reveal a painfully thin man, curled tight into himself. Jennifer notes the mark of permanent indenture tattooed on his forearm. She could take Chauvin at his word, but if this man is diseased, then it will affect her purchases. She lays a hand on his shoulder, giving it a good shake.

The man startles, vaulting to his feet, only to collapse only a second later. Jennifer can see why - there is something off about the angle of his right leg and it won’t support the weight. He looks at her through startled hazel eyes that hold her focus as if casting a spell. His hair is messy as is his beard, but Jennifer can make out that he may once have been a very handsome man.

“See,” Chauvin adds, “Not what you’re looking for. Boatman wouldn’t let me take the other ones if I didn’t take this one too. I don’t know how I’ll manage to sell him - not worth his cost in food with that gimp leg, but somebody had the company’s seal tattooed on him, so we can’t just dump him.”

Jennifer mostly ignores his comment, focusing instead on the harsh panted breaths of the man in front of her.

She holds out a gloved hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I startled you. I’m a doctor and I just want to take a look at you.”

His eyes brighten for a second when she mentions that she’s a doctor and Jennifer aches for him a little. He must be thinking about his leg, which she can tell won’t be fixed by anything other than intense and expensive treatment. He must be very naive to assume that a body merchant would order that kind of treatment for a chattel.

“Here,” Jennifer says, noting that he is still shivering. “Sit down.” She pulls as much of the blankets over him as she can while still conducting her examination. She runs her fingers over his body to smooth back his hair and look for sores. He helps her by pulling his shirt off to reveal a narrow chest and rosy nipples. He gasps a little when her fingers brush over one, blushing just a little when he does it.

“What’s your name?” she asks. She hasn’t asked any of the others - concerned more about their family health history than something so trivial as a name.

He just shakes his head, looking even more embarrassed.

“Don’t bother. He’s a mute,” the red-head offers.

After listening to his lungs and looking down his throat with the pocket refractor that Rodney made for her, Jennifer helps him pull down the tattered long underwear he’s been dressed in. Jennifer can tell right away that the leg is the result of a badly-healed break and not the result of disease or defect. Jennifer is efficient in her examinations, with a firm touch born of much practice, but he gives her a cut-off whimper when her fingers brush over his backside. Rodney would love that, she thinks. If only the University Regents knew how he’d get down on his knees and beg to touch her there.

Jennifer almost gasps herself with the sudden realization. Even though he’s never said anything directly, Jennifer knows that Rodney has always wanted a body servant - from the way he looks longingly at the Two Lions Room whenever they pass, to his obsession with pulling Jennifer’s corset tight and having her kneel next to him wearing nothing else the few times she indulges that particular fantasy. He is especially transparent when Lady Emmagen brings her Sora with her when she joins Jennifer for tea. Rodney could stare at them all day with both jealousy and fascination.

Jennifer even looked into purchasing a body slave for him for his last birthday, but the finances just didn’t support it, even with the money from Jennifer’s Apothecary business, Rodney’s salary from the University, and the patents on his inventions. Despite Rodney’s title, they do not have the vast family fortune needed to purchase a body servant from a respectable training house.

But Clauvin is practically offering to give this indenture away. Looking at him, Jennifer thinks that even healthy, he would not be contracted at the stockyards or the docks. There is an aristocratic appeal to his features and he is already obedient and responsive. Without the leg, Jennifer has no doubt that Clauvin would sell him straight to a brothel. And it just so happens that Jennifer has the medical expertise to fix him up well enough that he’ll eventually be able to kneel proudly before her husband. She knows that she’s not always the most assertive. She tries her best to live up to her title, but next to Lady Weir and many of the other faculty wives she often feels inarticulate and low-class, unable to demand the best for her husband. Training a body servant will be difficult, but maybe she can learn something from it.

The indentured shivers again when Jennifer finally finishes with her examination, pulling the blankets back over him. His eyes say that it’s a shiver of longing, not of cold. Jennifer imagines that it’s been a long time since this man felt a kind touch, so she gives him one last pat to the thigh of his bad leg before standing.

Jennifer examines and questions the others absently, already planning how she can turn Chauvin’s throw-away indenture into the perfect present for Rodney - the thing that will finally bring the bright smile to his face that Jennifer misses from the first years of her marriage, when doting on his young wife was enough to bring joy to her husband’s life.

She’s so distracted by her plans that she picks three of the indentures at random, trying to hide her blush when she adds, “And how much extra for the other one?”

Chauvin laughs. “How about that little mirror thing that you were using to shine light in their mouths?”

Jennifer grins. Rodney has made her several different models of the refractor and this isn’t even her favorite one. She hands it to him easily, smirking to show that she has gotten the better deal in this case. “I’ll take him with me now. Mr. Dex will come back in a few days with payment for the others.”

“What about the quarantine?” Chauvin asks.

“I bet you haven’t even put him on the books. That way you’re free of suspicion if you did want to dump him and let somebody else whose bound by the Company’s seal deal with him when he gets picked up.”

Chauvin nods. “Very astute, m’Lady. Not too many of my business associates would even pick that one up.”

“Not many of your associates are educated,” Jennifer reminds him. She also grabs her coin purse from her bag. “How much for a clean set of clothes for him?”

“I’ll lend you something that your man Dex can return when he comes for the rest,” he says, handing her a key for the manacle. “I’m betting you won’t have him wear the kind of clothes I got lying around here for more than the walk home.”

“You’re quite astute yourself,” Jennifer admits. “Do you happen to have a cane for him?”

“Just the old stick he was using when he came here,” he admits.

While waiting for Chauvin to return, Jennifer reenters the cage to gently undo her new purchase’s manacle, which Jennifer notices isn’t tied to the pulley system like the others, but to the water pipe behind him. It makes sense - with a bad leg and such a docile persona, there would be no need to punish him.

“You’re coming with me,” Jennifer responds to his questioning gaze. “We’re going to do something about your leg, which I admit will be a trial, but I’ve trained in bone injuries, even though I work mostly with serums at the moment. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.” She knows she’s giddy and probably talking too much, but her enthusiasm is catching because the man is soon grinning back at her.

His smile is radiant, showing off a good straight set of teeth and pulling laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “My husband is going to love getting you as a gift,” she blurts out.

Some of the other indentures snicker at that, but Jennifer ignores them. Her new charge doesn’t look ashamed. If anything he seems puzzled, but he leans into her touch when she massages the ankle the manacle had been around.

“If we get you your stick back, can you walk?” Jennifer asks.

Normally, she would just walk back home, but based on the damage she can see, it looks as though they will need to take a cable car instead. Jennifer hates the cable cars and the harsh press of bodies against her, the creak of the cable pulling. She doesn’t care if they are considered a triumph of Marquette’s future as a shining world city, she’d rather feel the cobblestone beneath her feet, take in the air of the city, disgusting as it can sometimes be, and remember the days before she was the Lady McKay, when she was free to run through the streets in search of small jobs that would pay her a penny for taffy. She remembers chasing her friends through the lush forests of Jackson Park, playing in mud flats by the shore and looking out at the peaceful waters of the lake, free.

Something that she will never be again, regardless of the fact that she was as far from indenture as could be. Unless a marriage is an even more serious contract of right. Sometimes Jennifer thinks that it is - not because her husband orders her around (he would have to come out of his study for too long in order to do that), but because no matter how good a match they are for each other, they are bound together for life, shackled to their partnership like these men before her manacled to the wall. She knows she’s lucky to have found a man as intelligent, understanding, and indulgent as Rodney, but sometimes she wonders if he married her because the reagants had started to suspect his breeding rather than because he actually wanted a wife.

A body servant might be just the thing to spark Rodney out of his current depression - supposedly about Rodney’s work in energy. From what Jennifer could tell from the heated discussions over evening brandy, the scientific community acknowledged that there were limits to steam power and mechanical energy. While Rodney’s colleagues experiment with lightning and carbon filaments, Rodney proclaimed that the particles of the university itself held the key. He even built Jennifer a miraculous device that, using the power of the atom, could show her images of person’s physiology.

But Jennifer suspects that Rodney’s discontent runs deeper than not being recognized for his brilliance and she couldn’t help the insecurity that told her she might be part of the cause. These days the spend more time sleeping in their individual laboratories than they do sharing a bed and Rodney’s fond, indulgent smiles are rarer and rarer. He doesn’t even notice when she buys herself a new dress. Part of the disappointment in her may be that despite six years of marriage, they have yet to conceive a child and part of it may be that he longs for something that she just can’t give him.

Jennifer doesn’t realize how lost she has become in her thoughts until a gentle touch startles her from her daze. The indentured is clasping her shoulder, a supportive, compassionate look in his eyes. She can’t help but lean into the touch, wishing that it were Rodney’s hands buoying her up, not those of a servant.

“Well,” she sighs, gathering up the clothing that she hadn’t noticed Chauvin leaving for her. “Let me help you get this on and then we can be on our way.”

The indenture pushes her hands away, however, gentle, but insistent that he would like to dress himself. Jennifer realizes that if she were stronger, a good mistress training an obedient body servant, she should punish him for defying her. But the truth is that the last thing she wants for herself is a body servant. She’d prefer a companion to share her gilded cage.

The indentured grins at her, happy to prove that despite the leg, he could pull his own pants on and lace up his own boots. She indulges him what pleasures he has now, because she knows that once treatment for his leg begins, he will have little of it.

“You know, I need something to call you,” she remarks. She must get to know him if he is to be her companion through the long summer and the academic fight she feels brewing after the announcement of the Exposition coming to their backyard. “Do you have a name?”

He shakes his head.

“Any preference? Keep in mind that if you pick something really strange, my husband will most likely just rename you.”

At first the indentured shakes his head, but then he stops, frowning. He reaches out for her hand. At first Jennifer wonders what he’s doing, but she soon realizes that the pattern he’s tracing on the back of her hand is letters.

She smiles, satisfied. “Nice to meet you, John.”

It doesn’t occur to her until much later to wonder how a man with a permanent indenture and no name knows how to write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer finds her new servant more enticing than expected.

Jennifer and Rodney live on a parcel of Jennifer’s family land overlooking Jackson Park, one of the few nice things included in her dowry. Jennifer smiles as she leads John up to the wrought iron gate. He smiles back, even though he is panting, on the verge of exhaustion from the short walk from the trolley station. Marquette is not a city that is kind to either the poor or the crippled. Looking over at John, Jennifer is glad that she has the luxury to be neither.

Night is beginning to fall and Jennifer can see that Rodney already has the gas lamps lit in his study in the main house. Jennifer sighs, resigning herself to scooping her husband up from his desk with papers stuck to his cheek and dragging him back to bed. They may not have a love like a Shakespearian sonnet, but Jennifer thinks that Rodney couldn’t find a woman who would be as well adapted and understanding of his his ways as she is. And she could not imagine a marriage to a man who wanted nothing more than a pretty socialite with no interests of her own. Even when she is spitting mad at Rodney for his arrogance and his inattentiveness and the fact that he’ll always put his work before hers, she knows that they compliment each other well and that she could not hope for more.

Rodney deserves this gift, she decides, watching John nervously make his way up the steep path towards the back house and Jennifer’s laboratory. He would have a narrow waistline, even if her weren’t so skinny, and despite the limp and many other posture problems it creates, he moves with a grace that Jennifer appreciates. There is something proud about him, almost noble, despite his wretched condition. She imagines that most people could not see it in the bustling mass of sickness and poverty in this city, but she sees a diamond in the rough. Or perhaps it is madness - that John is too sick with naivety to know his position.

Ronon is waiting for them at the door to the residential wing of the lab. The test subjects each have their own small rooms, but they are probably in the common area playing cards or strength training games. Ronon greats her with a hug, as always. Jennifer has long given up on instructing him in the manners befitting interaction with a lady.

“You’re back late. I was starting to worry,” he says gruffly.

Jennifer was taken once. A couple of thieves tried to ransom her, only to meet an untimely end at the tip of Ronon’s blade. Still, she refuses to allow Ronon to accompany her on these supply missions. She wants to be like the Lady Emmagen - proud and unafraid to be in the world.

“Nothing to worry about,” Jennifer replies. “I just picked up a piece of personal merchandise and took some time getting back here.”

Ronon takes John in skeptically. “Not a test subject, right?”

“No.” She turns to John. “This is Mr. Dex. He’s . . .” Jennifer is always at a loss to explain Ronon. He was one of her patients while she was apprenticing with Dr. Beckett at the architectural firm Carter & Weir, an indentured laborer who had needed surgery to remove a railroad spike that had been accidentally driven in perilously close to his spine. Jennifer brought him to her laboratory to recover and while there he had been so good at managing the rest of the test subjects in the dormitory that she purchased the remaining two years of his indenture for that very task. Now, he is an employee at will and a friend. “Mr. Dex is like the headmaster of our little dormitory here. Anything that I do not take care of myself will be in his hands.”

John nods, shyly extending a hand for Ronon to shake. Ronon laughs (it’s not often that the servants try to shake his hand), but takes it.

“Normal intake procedures?” Ronon asks.

“No. I’ll be taking care of John myself, mostly in the main lab. But could you ask Marie to bring him a change of clothes from the main house and to light the water heater?”

John is limping badly by the time they reach the main lab, so Jennifer immediately directs him to lay down on the chaise lounge while she runs a bath.

This place is Jennifer’s sanctuary. She loves looking out through the intricately paned glass, down at the park and the silent lake beyond. An evening fog has rolled in off the water, obscuring everything but the soft glow of the street lamps. This building was once a guest house, with the lab where the large living room used to be and the servants quarters where her test subjects now stay. Jennifer keeps the upstairs bedroom for herself, for when she does not feel like returning to the main house and her husband, which is the case more and more these days.

Jennifer turns on the water the second the steam gauge shows that the water heater is on. She smiles as she dips her hand in the hot water spilling into the clawfoot tub. Rodney built it to be large and luxurious, as fond of baths as he is. After a tough day in the rough of Marquette, she looks at the warm water longingly, before pouring in some bath salts and returning to the lab to retrieve her charge.

She finds that Marie has dropped off a set of sleeping clothes and a razor. “Well,” Jennifer remarks to her new indenture, “let’s get you properly bathed and then we can all have a good sleep.”

John’s leg has stiffened in the time she’s left him alone, so Jennifer is forced to prop him up to get him up the stairs. He’s reluctant to accept her help before she reminds him that he is now her indenture, to do with as she pleases. There is a defiant glint in his eye, however, that lets Jennifer know that despite his seeming innocence, training this indenture into a proper body servant will not be an easy task. Luckily for them all, Jennifer has never been one to shy away from a challenge.

John is barely able to stay on his feet as Jennifer pulls his clothes off. By now they reek of fear and exertion, but Jennifer will have Ronon return them to Mr. Chauvin as requested. John shivers as Jennifer lets her hands travel across his skin, stripping him bare. She’d seen bits and pieces of his figure when she first examined him, but she hadn’t yet seen him in his entirety. She’s gratified to note the way his back curves, the tight muscle of his small, but well shaped ass, and the narrow chest that Rodney seems to favor when he looks at men. She is even more gratified to see a long, pretty cock, smaller than her husband’s, but not by a large amount. Rodney will be pleased.

John is staring at her intently, obviously questioning what she is doing.

“It looks good,” she says, blushing a little - though why she should care about the opinion of her future body slave, she doesn’t know. Jennifer is suddenly reminded that whatever she might want for her husband, the goings on at the Two Lions have never interested her. In fact, the whole concept of owning indentures had never really taken until Lady Weir had proposed that she exchange an early release from indenture for use as a test subject.

Jennifer ignores John’s questioning gaze when she helps him step into the tub, allowing him to lower himself down into the water at his own pace. He splashes her a little as he does a controlled fall back against the shelf of the tub. The water feels marvelous at first, but soon cools and pulls the fabric of her bodice into an uncomfortable wetness. She sighs, quickly unlacing the exterior corset and pulling off her top piece. She might as well do away with the bottom also. The body servant will see her with less than this eventually, so she wonders why she should bother with modesty.

But Jennifer soon shivers in the cold spring night in nothing but her undergarmets. John is watching her with intense but unreadable hazel eyes, tracking ever movement, no matter how slight. “Get used to it,” she snaps. “I’m sure Rodney will enjoy seeing us together.”

Jennifer shivers again, but is more than surprised when John reaches out a tentative hand to clasp hers, pulling her ever so gently towards the tub.

Why not? She reflects. He is a permanent indenture - nothing more than a piece of property, one who she will soon be training for exactly this. So she deftly unlaces her corset and slips it from her chest, giving up all grace when the cool air hits her and scrambling to pull off her stockings and her panties before jumping into the large tub with John, splashing him a little.

He gives her only the smallest hint of a smile before ducking his head under for a second to wet his hair. Jennifer copies him, grinning afterwards.

She lets him soap himself up, unable to keep a small grin off her face from how he seems to luxuriate in it. His eyes go a little wild when she pulls out the razor, but a reassuring touch and a few meaningless murmurs get her access, even though the tension never leaves his body.

Jennifer starts with his arms - they are the least vulnerable area of the body - good for building trust. Then she moves on to his chest, sharpening the razor blade in the meantime and drawing more hot water into the tub. He can’t help but flinch when she approaches his nipples. Jennifer would almost feel bad for him if not for the fact that he is her property now - better here to be bathed and trained to service a single man and his wife than to the other places that would take a permanent indenture.

She’s happy to observe that despite some issues trusting Jennifer with a razor, a certain part of John’s anatomy is definitely enjoying her ministrations. Now that she knows that he naturally responds to women, Jennifer is curious to see if he will respond to a man. She knows that its ultimately immaterial for a proper body servant. He can be trained or given certain serums, or there are many men who even prefer a body servant not distracted by his own arousal. Rodney is not one of those men, Jennifer knows. He prides himself in being an attentive lover and will become downright petulant if Jennifer is uninterested in the number of orgasms that he has envisioned for her on any given night. She hopes that John will prove equally responsive, or at least that he can be trained that way.

Jennifer observed that John is malnourished earlier, but its not until she shaves the thick hair from his chest can really see the painful dip in between his ribs. She’ll have to move back the surgery date for his leg until he’s stronger, pushing back her timetable for training him. She frowns. Normally the Boatman that Chauvin deals with is good at feeding his charges. They fetch a higher price at the stockyards when they look stronger and better able to do the work.

“Didn’t they feed you on the boat?”

John half shakes his head before nodding.

“They did feed you, but you weren’t able to eat?”

He does the same half nod. Jennifer can see that while the mute thing might be ideal for a certain type of body servant, it is going to make being a good doctor to John very difficult.

“So you weren’t ill.”

John shakes his head.

“Did the other indentures take your food?”

John nods, looking almost ashamed. Jennifer takes a quick peak through the water and notes that, as suspected, his erection has wilted. She pulls his good leg out of the tub and begins to lather it.

“I’m sorry. What about before that? Did they feed you in New Amsterdam?”

John does the half nod again before splashing down a frustrated arm and pointing to his head.

“You don’t remember?” Jennifer asks.

He nods.

That doesn’t make sense, though. Judging by the way it had healed, John’s leg fracture occurred at least a year ago. But the first ships wouldn’t have left New Amsterdam more than a few weeks ago. If John didn’t remember anything before that, then there was a chance that the injuries were unrelated or that his head trauma had been so severe that he would have lost a significant amount of time from it.

“So the first thing you remember is the ship?”

John shakes his head again.

“Not the ship, but something not long before that?”

He nods, looking weary.

Jennifer sighs. She is weary herself. “Well, we’ll have plenty of time to get to the bottom of this, I suppose. If it is a mystery that has any answer at all.”

She finishes with the good leg and continues on with the bad. Without the copious amount of hair, the scars are stark white and angry looking. John’s whole body is covered in small scars, but they are worse on this leg. Jennifer can see some hackneyed attempts at medical care on some of the worse ones - evidence to stitching, but no surgical scars of the kind needed to maintain mobility of the leg. Jennifer doesn’t wonder why - it is obvious how John received these injuries: they are the scars of war. What is more the mystery is the fact that John still has his leg at all.

“Does this hurt?” she asks, twisting John’s ankle to force him to turn his leg. It turns out she needn’t have asked, judging by his wince. As she suspected - a double fracture to the tibia and fibula, healed improperly to limit rotational movement. She will confirm her hypothesis tomorrow using Rodney’s atomic viewing machine. Besides, a path is hardly the proper place for a diagnosis.

There are only a few areas left to shave and Jennifer blushes a little at what comes next. John shoots her a questioning look, but when she nods ever so slightly, he lifts himself out of the tub willingly enough, rolling over so she can attend to his back side. His upper back is smooth and hairless, but there are more intimate places that must be dealt with - not necessarily for his impending surgery, but to begin his life as a proper body servant. Lady Emmagen explained how she does the intake of all new hires at the Two Lions once and Jennifer intends to follow the protocol.

She is so concentrated on her work, nudging his legs apart to bring the blade up his inner thigh and around firm buttocks, that it is not until he is shaved clean that she stops to appreciate the small but muscular ass displayed before her. She runs a hand down it appreciatively - it belongs to her, after all. She smiles at the small sigh this illicits from her new servant and the way he relaxes instinctually.

With a small nudge to the hip he turns around to face her, erection straining and eyes watching her with such intense curiosity that she almost looks away. He doesn’t soften when she scraps the blade down the arrow of hair pointing from his naval, or when she follows a caress with a swipe of the razor. Even when she painstakingly stretches out his flesh to shave the sensitive skin of his scrotum, all she hears is the way his breath catches, his eyes staring down at her, hypnotized. She feels powerful with him looking at her this way - more than she has ever felt, even as a lady who commands servants, the wife of a world-famous scientist, an accomplished woman in and of herself. But John stares at her as though she is his world and she supposes that she must be - as the woman who has literally unshackled him, taken him from a life in which he remembered no joy, who has brought him here to a luxurious hot bath and attended to him, sat naked before him, and most of all, promised to cure his infirmity. The hot rush of power is intoxicating and she feels it tugging at her innocence, threatening to steal it away.

By the time she has stripped all the hair from his body, Jennifer realizes that her arousal matches John’s and she wants nothing more than to take advantage of that fact. But Jennifer married her husband as a nineteen-year-old virgin and has yet to provide him with a child. She does not think she could forgive herself if she allowed herself to fall prey to her urges and that moment of weakness resulted in a bastard.

She stands hastily, surprising John, who cowers away from her ever so slightly. She grabs towels for both of them, tossing his into his outstretched hand.

“Put on those clothes,” she points. “You may sleep in the attached bedroom. I will send for you in the morning.”

John looks frightened for a second before he schools his features, nodding.

Jennifer wraps her towel tightly around her before rushing out into the bedroom to find her robe. She dries hastily, pulling on her mink coat over her robe and rushing down the stairs and out into the cold of the night. The servants had gone to sleep now in order to wake up to prepare the house before dawn tomorrow, but Rodney’s study is still lit. She doesn’t care about the cold on her her skin or her wet hair as she charges up the path to the main house, entering her combination at the back door and rushing up the servant’s staircase and into the study.

“Jennifer?” Rodney asks. He is hunched over a book, with ink smeared on his left cheek and what is left of his hair standing on end. She doesn’t care that he looks half-mad in the flickering light of the gas lamps, she yanks off her coat and her robe, throwing herself into his warm arms.

“Did you walk over from the guest house like that?” Rodney asks, running his fingers through her wet hair and examining the flush on her cheeks. “Jennifer, you could catch a cold.”

But Jennifer doesn’t care. Her body is humming with power and love for her husband and something else entirely - the thrill of discovery, perhaps. She rips at his trousers like an animal, half wild with desire.

Rodney takes longer to catch on than she’d like and Jennifer groans in frustration.

“Seriously, Jennifer. Not that I don’t appreciate this,” he looks over her naked body with all the lust and passion that she has missed these last months, “because trust me, I do. But you have to admit that this behavior is out of character.”

Jennifer leans in to kiss him, letting her newfound center - the one that knows her power without doubting or fidgeting or giving in to her own impression that she is still just a child playing in an adult world. She controls the kiss, forcing him back into the chair as she straddles him, biting at his lips in punishment for all those days that he treated her like a child or an object or a forgotten theorem abandoned on the chalkboard.

He is out of breath when she pulls back, but his eyes are shining. “You know what? I don’t care what’s gotten into you. I want it.”

Jennifer grins, lifting up off him and dragging him towards the bearskin rug sitting in front of the fire.

“Take off your trousers,” she orders him as though he were a servant.

He obeys her without question, fumbling a little even though it is a movement he must have done thousands of times since his youth.

She doesn’t wait for him to finish with his shirt, pushing him down onto the rug instead, before moving to straddle him once again, this time feeling him fill her up. She rocks against him and leans down until her nipples brush against his chest, holding his jaw in place as she kisses him, taking what she wants and ignoring how his fingers flutter helplessly from her hips to her back to the thick fur of the rug. Jennifer leans back, leaving him wanting more, but intent on finding that perfect angle, the one that makes her gasp and moan. She lowers herself down against it until finally she is clenching, feeling every atom of power in her body narrowing down to a single point, before exploding out with a sob. Rodney’s hips are moving in counterpoint to hers, pushing up and into her even after her motions have stilled and each thrust elicits a tense whimper from her over-sensitized body. Finally, he his spilling warmth within her, with an ugly face and a strangled moan. She sits there for a moment, rocking her hips just a little to make him twitch before settling, feeling him inside her and hoping that this time she will succeed in conceiving his child. The thought comes unbidden - if she is pregnant with her husband’s child, then nothing will stop her from taking pleasure in training John.

After both their heartbeats have calmed and the sweat has dried on Jennifer’s brow, she pulls off, grabbing Rodney by the hand and leading him to their big, barely used bed. She kisses him tenderly before flipping the switch that will cut off the gas to the lamps in the house and smother the fire.

“I love you,” she tells her husband and the darkness.

“I love you too, Jennifer.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's first morning in his new home.

The man called John wakes suddenly to the faint echo of a far off explosion, heat, fear, clearing with the fog of a dream, but the pain remains, a bright ball of suffering centered on his leg. He groans, rolling over and gripping a feather-soft pillow tighter to his chest. That makes his eyes fly open - not the pain, but the relative lack thereof. He is warm, despite the cold of winter. He is clothed in soft cotton pajamas that feel smooth like water on his skin. He has a pillow rather than the crook of his arm on which to lay his head. And yes his leg aches with a bone-deep pain that has been a constant in his life as long as he remembers, but his joints are not stiff from cold and his head does not ache from exhaustion.

It takes a moment to inventory the few memories that he has, but when he does, he finds himself smiling into the pillow. He’d thought his internment in the cell, manacled to the wall would never end. It seemed endless compared to the short existence he remembers. But now he is free. A beautiful woman arrived as if in a dream, like no woman John had yet seen. Her clothes were clean and intricate and tailored to her small frame perfectly. She held herself proudly, not with her years weighing her down and she’d stood up to Mr. Chauvin like an equal, something that John had not even seen from some of his male clients.

Then she had touched John with that same confidence, but gentleness too. John instinctivly knew that she was a healer and that she could fix his leg, whatever was wrong with it. And then later, in that heavenly warm bath, she’d touched John more intimately. He hadn’t felt useless, the way she’d gazed at him. He’d felt powerful with hope and desire.

John only wishes that he knew the woman’s name. She hadn’t introduced herself - why should she introduce herself to the property she intended to buy? And neither Mr. Chauvin nor the man called Ronon had referred to her by name.

John opens his eyes to take in his surroundings. They appear even more opulent in the daylight. After the woman left last night, John struggled out of the tub and into the clothing she had left for him. He debated going to find the house master, Ronon, but decided that he probably didn’t want to be bothered. Instead, he chose the smaller of the two upstairs bedrooms in which to fall asleep. In the morning, the wallpaper and its small blue flower pattern look fresh and new, and the woodwork trim adds a sense of grandeur.

But then again, this is the first inside of a house that John has seen since he lost his memory. He remembers what must have been a hospital - white linen, plain walls, men and women with medical instruments, tubes and needles and pain. He also remembers the streets of New Amsterdam like a phantasmagoric dream, and the boat, of course, and the cell where Mr. Chauvin kept him - where John thought he would die, the way they talked about him as though he were a useless thing. But he’s not dead and he’s not useless to the woman who wants John to please her husband. John doesn’t know what exactly it is about him that will make the woman’s husband happy, but John will gladly give it to him if it means fixing John’s leg.

John pulls himself up and looks around the room. The clothes he was wearing from Mr. Chauvin are gone and have not been replaced. John isn’t deterred, however. He spends his usual fifteen minutes massaging what tension he can out of his bad leg before standing and limping down the stairs into what the woman had referred to as a the main laboratory.

John expects the laboratory to resemble a hospital, considering that the woman is a medical doctor. But John doesn’t recognize any of the equptment inside - beakers and burners and several large machines with unknown purposes.

John is also fascinated by the construction of the building. It stands tall on the hilltop overlooking the city, but still slightly lower than the main house. Both houses have large windows looking out over the city like nothing John has ever seen. He assumes that so much glass must be a show of wealth, considering how he can feel the heat leeching out of them. Yet the rest of the house is plesantly warm - warmer than John can ever remember being. Except for the bath last night, though he suspects that some of that feeling came from the luscious slide of the water against his dirty skin and a beautiful woman staring at him with such fascination.

The city of Marquette seems impossibly large below them, and the frigid lake imposing, but there is something very familiar about this site. Perhaps he’d been here before, in his forgotten life. John knows that it’s not all forgotten. It can’t be. He knows familiars objects and their uses even if he hasn’t seen them before. He also recognizes places. He can tell a home from a hospital from a cage and he remembers how he should feel in each of them. He understands what he is being told, even though for some reason the words won’t come to his own lips. So the memories, or at least their architecture, should remain. He just needs to access them.

Some pigeons have taken flight from the shingles of the main house, gliding down towards the city and away from the park. John wonders if he is free to do the same. And he wonders what has happened to the woman. A part of him knows that he should be stronger, but he wishes she were here already. She was such a spark of comfort in his dark life that he fears that after only half a day in her presence he has become addicted.

He notices movement in the window of the house across the way. Perhaps it is the woman. He squints but can still not make out the figure until he notices a brass spyglass on a tripod and casually pointed at the opposite window. Perhaps she left it here for him to use.

John is surprised when it is not the woman but a man, so different than the rough characters that John has become accustomed to. He is wearing a blindingly white shirt and a vest with no hat or jacket. There is something strong about his build, and healthy, as though he has had plenty to eat but has not overindulged in gluttony. His eyes are sharp and bright blue and he has such a look of concentration on his face that John is momentarily mesmerized. He is writing on a chalkboard, with the deliberate slowness of someone who is thinking more than acting, and John recognizes some of the numbers and symbols, but not the equations themselves. Like the woman, this man holds the entirety of John’s attention. He imagines that this is the kind of man who could command the attention of whoever he wants in this world.

John is so caught up in his observation that the sound of footsteps on the staircase leading up to this floor make him startle, nearly tripping over his bad leg. The pain spikes, but John forces himself to ignore it.

The woman has returned, with another well-dressed man in tow. She is wearing a blue dress the color of the sky today, her hair twisted in ringlets. The effect is a powerful innocence that startles John, who had seen her as commanding, even knowing in the back of his mind that she is young. He companion is closer to John’s age, with a kind face. Most importantly, he is carrying a doctor’s bag.

“John,” the woman says. “This is Carson Beckett, my mentor. He’s going to help me examine you.”

“Carson, John is my new indenture.”

Carson smiles at John warmly, looking slightly baffled by John offering his hand to shake, but reciprocating readily.

The woman doesn’t hesitate to lead John over to one of the machines that John had wondered about earlier, positioning him in front of it and adjusting a few dials while talking to Carson.

“That’s a nasty limp he has there.” The man speaks about John with a casual ton that puts John’s hair on end - as though he’s talking about an animal. “Is this the begining of your return to the world of butchery?”

John would be frightened except of the attractive way the woman wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Please, Carson. I’d be laughed out of the field - a female surgeon. They tolerate my skill with medicines most likely because laboratory work resembles cooking.”

“You’ve done fine work setting bones in the past, lass. With that machine Rodney’s built you, you could make a career of it. I thought that’s why you called me here, to view your latest calibrations on the machine.”

The woman nods. “John, hold still for a second.” She presses a button and there is a distinctive noise of the machine activating. Doing what, John can’t fathom. So far as he can tell, nothing happens, but Jennifer moves quickly to remove something from the back panel of the machine he was standing in. Jennifer rings a bell, summoning the oriental woman from the previous night, who takes the piece off without a word.

“I perfected that calibrations on the machine some time ago. I am merely waiting for Richard to straighten things out with the patent office before I prepare publications on it. I love collaborating with my husband, but the way Rodney drags his heels with paperwork always makes the patenting process difficult.”  
“Aye, Rodney is a difficult one. I don’t see how you have the patience.”

“He gives me my space and I give him his. It makes our time together a blessing rather than a curse.”

“I suppose I should give that a try sometime. Laura has taken to clinging like a limpet these days.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “What do you expect, Carson? You met her while she was dressed as a male soldier aboard a battleship and she only came clean to you about it because she was wounded. Imagine someone so desperate for excitement that she rand away from home and then dressed as a man to go fight the Spanish being basically locked up in a house for the past four years convalescing from her wounds and pushing out children. She gave up a lot for you.”

Carson eyes the woman critically. “Are we talking about my wife or are we talking about you and Rodney now?”

“I didn’t give up anything marrying Rodney. If anything I have more freedom now than I ever did before marriage. I’m suggesting that maybe rather than giving in to your virile urges, give her some time after the next baby is born to get back to her old hobbies before you expand your brood.”

“Hobbies like blowing things up, you mean?”

John perks up at this. He likes the idea of a female soldier who enjoys explosives. He hopes that sometime he will be able to meet her. But as it is, his muscles are weak and the pain in his leg is becoming overwhelming. The woman notices, guiding him over to lay down in a bench built into a nook created by a large bay window.

Carson is quick to begin prodding John’s leg without asking permission. “Speaking of hobbies,” he says. “I’m eagerly awaiting the results, but this looks like an improperly healed spiral fracture to the tibia and fibula. And you mentioned that there are neurological considerations as well?”

“Yes, though to be honest I don’t have a clue where to begin on treating the memory loss or the speech issue.”

“So he’s going to be your case study for the atomic viewing machine?”

The woman blushes. “That is a good idea, Carson. However, I must admit that I purchased John for more personal reasons.”

Carson gives her a skeptical look.

“I bought him for Rodney.”

“I thought Rodney hated the idea of a personal servant. He prefers to do everything himself.”

“Actually, I purchased John as a body servant, not a personal one.”

Carson appears taken aback, which makes John wary. He doesn’t know what a body servant is, but there is something about Carson that makes John think that he can trust his good sense. John can really see the doctor in Carson when faced with his intense scrutiny. “I guess I can see it. Rodney had quite the appetite for young men before you came along and it is one of the few ‘society’ traditions he shows any interest in at all. But why this one? The medical problems aside, isn’t a he a little old?”

John frowns. He doesn’t know exactly how old he is, but based on looking in the mirror, he’d bet he’s younger than Carson.

The woman laughs, forcing John’s frown into a smile. “I think he’s insulted by that, Carson. No, there’s just something about him. We’ll fix him up and you’ll see, even the Lady Emmagen will be jealous. Now, I’m going to go check on Marie and how she’s processing the film. You can do a complete exam on him if you’d like.”

Carson barely waits for the woman to leave the room before turning to John a look of compassion on his face that belies the indifference of earlier. “Listen, lad. I don’t know how much you understand of all this, but I’ll lay it out for you. Jennifer has bought you as a body servant, meaning that are here to sexually serve her husband. Rodney is kindhearted, but he uses his male lovers hard. I doubt Jennifer is aware of how much so. If you cannot submit to sex with a man and rough sex at that, you need to speak up now before Jennifer invests any effort into you. You may see her as a lady and maybe even your personal savior, but she is stubborn as a dog with a bone once she gets an idea in her head. If you object now, she could probably be persuaded to release you, but not after the surgery.”

John doesn’t know if he’d be able to sexually serve a man or if he even wants to. Last night with the woman, Jenifer according to Carson, had been the first time he could remember getting aroused, even though he knows that he must have done it many times before. But does it matter? Could it possibly be any worse off that being turned out into the streets with no place to live, a bum leg, and no knowledge of the world around him. He gestures to his leg.

Carson frowns. “I’m sorry, lad. That kind of surgery is experimental and the devices needed for recovery are expensive, not to mention that you will need constant care for several months. Jennifer will not consent to perform it for free and I’m afraid that I only have the time to help Jennifer with the surgery but not to participate in the care. It’s a faustian bargain and there’s not a damn thing can be done about it.”

Except escape, John thinks. He’ll put up with as much as he needs to in order to get better and gain some knowledge about the world - maybe get his memories back. Then he’ll leave, hop on a boat to another city and never need to put up with rough sex or whatever Carson is afraid of ever again.

He gives Carson his most determined looking stare.

The other man sighs. “I suppose you’re right. I forget sometimes, how cruel this city can be. Better the devil you know.”

Carson finishes the rest of the exam in silence, before Jennifer returns with a photograph of what appears to be John’s bones. He is both fascinated and disgusted. Somehow, deep in the recesses of his memory he knows what a human skeleton should look like, and those bones in his leg are not right. Jennifer and Carson discuss the surgery at length, while John stares out the window. The man is still at the chalkboard in the other house. John wonders if that man is Rodney. A part of him hopes that he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets his new master.

This time, when John wakes up, the world is muted. He comes to in flashes. First, Marie is hovering over him, wiping his fevered brow with a wet cloth and murmuring reassurances to him. He is hot and cold at once, but a drugged haze keeps his thoughts half-formed and useless.

Next, Jennifer squeezes his hand and whispers, “I’m going to check your bandages. Be still.” John obeys her command. That is his purpose, to obey her command.

Finally, John comes to full awareness to find Ronon sitting next to the bed, playing with a pistol. John feels drawn to the gun, fascinated. It’s not an ordinary pistol. John wonders how he knows that. Instead of a rotating chamber that must be loaded manually, this one has a cartridge filled with bullets. Ronon appears to be practicing how quickly he can change the chambers.

It takes a moment for Ronon to realize John’s awake, but when he does, he grins. John tries to push himself up to a seated position, but Ronon is quick to stop him.

“The Lady McKay told me that you have to remain still,” Ronon grumbles. “I can prop you up with a pillow, but that’s it. Understood?”

John nods.

His leg aches, but less than it did before the surgery. There’s still that fuzzy, floating feeling lurking at the outskirts of his vision. Jennifer had discussed painkillers with him before the initial surgery, so he assumes he must still be benefiting from them.

The painkillers insulate the shock of what has been done to his leg. It is elevated, held up by strings that attach to fine metal filaments that attach to pullies. But that’s not what bothers him. What bothers him is the metal rods that extend out of the very flesh of his leg itself, attaching to thick metal rings that circle his leg.

John must look panicked, because Ronon pats his shoulder. “Those rods are attached to your bones. The rings hold the bones in place. Once the bones are healed enough, you’ll have another surgery to take the rods out.”

John wants to protest another surgery and things literally being attached to his bones, but Ronon just shrugs. “I’m not a Doc. That’s all I know. The Lady McKay wanted to be here when you woke up, but the Governor’s son has had a horseback riding accident and she and Doctor Beckett went to consult.”

John nods. The fuzzy feeling is beginning to dissipate and the pain is returning. He grips the sheets tight. It still isn’t worse than before the treatment, but John is sure that it will soon surpass the worse he has ever felt.

Ronon sighs. “The Lady only left me one syringe of heroin and I don’t know how long they will be gone. We should save the dosage for a few hours until you need to sleep.”

John nods, but he’s panting now as the pain returns.

Ronon looks sympathetic, but not overly so. He hands John a metal bell. “Ring this if you have an emergency.” At John’s blank look he elaborates, “iIf you’re going to choke on your own vomit, or the pain gets too bad, or if something goes wrong with these wires. I’m going to help you with the bedpan and then I have other things to do.”

John submits to the humiliating experience of the bedpan and to a perfunctory cleaning under his armpits with a wet rag. He burns with the shame of it (even though he has no idea what actual taboo he is reacting to). On the boat and with Mr. Chauvin it hadn’t mattered because he had been chattel and they had been cold and distant. But Ronon treated John like a human being and as a human being, John thinks he should take care of himself. Then again, despite Jennifer and Ronon’s kindness, John can’t forget what Carson had said. He said that John was to be a sexual servant to a harsh master. John could not imagine what humiliations that would entail.

John isn’t sure how much time has passed since Ronon left him, but he knows that there are tears in his eyes and he is whimpering quietly when he hears a voice. John almost cries out in relief.

“Hello? Jennifer?” the voice is strong, strident, but not low and rumbling like Ronon’s. “Who’s there? Are you alright?”

John is trying to hold on for a little while, until he needs to sleep, but the pain is too much. He cries out, but cannot form words.

There are footsteps running up the stairs. “Ronon?” the man calls. “Is that you?”

John wishes he could answer.

The man bursts into the room. He is the same man that John saw from the window. Today he is wearing just a cream colored shirt with ruffles in the front and black velvet pants. The shirt is sooty and not buttoned correctly and the pants have smudges of oil on them.

“Oh,” the man comes to a stop, blinking owlishly at John. “Who are you?”

John gestures to his throat, trying to mime being unable to speak.

“Well?” he demands expectantly.

The man’s eyes are intensely blue, and even though he appears angry and impatient, John can’t imagine him as being anything other than kind.

“Can you speak?” the man asks.

John shakes his head.

“Okay.” Realizing that an interrogation with a mute will get him nowhere, the man’s eyes stray from John, taking in the medical equipment and the way that Jennifer has changed the setup of her laboratory to accommodate John. “You must be the case study that Jennifer is using to present the atomic viewer.” The man looks at the brace with the same awed disgust that John had. “I married a butcher,” he complains. “I take it you’re in pain?” he asks. “This looks painful.”

John nods.

“And she’s left you all alone?”

Another nod.

“Okay, that’s not very nice of her.”

John wishes he could explain about the Governor’s son, but the words fail him.

“I’ll tell you what,” the man responds. “I can’t give you an injection - the sight of needles makes me faint. But,” he pulls a small package out of his pocket. “I do have a little cocaine.” He dips his finger into the white power and rubs it on John’s front teeth. It’s oddly intimate. “There you go. Don’t tell my wife about that. Oh wait, you’re a mute. You can’t.”

If he’s referring to his wife, than this must be Rodney, the man that John will serve when she’s better. He suppresses a shudder. But if this man  _is_  Rodney, John doesn’t want him to think that he can just walk all over John, even if he owns him. He mimes writing.

But instead of looking upset, Rodney smiles. “You can read and write?”

John nods.

“Well, don’t write this to my wife then.” He pats his shirt, looking for pockets even though it clearly has none. Then he moves over to the desk, fumbling around. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for. “Here, this is pen. Don’t worry, it almost never needs to be refilled. I invented it myself. And here’s some paper.”

John looks at the “paper” skeptically. It appears to be pages torn from a medical book.

“Don’t worry. Those idiots Kendall and Watson have no idea what they’re talking about. You can write over them.”

John pauses. He’s not sure what Rodney wants him to write.

“Start with your name,” Rodney instructs.

_John._

“I’m Dr. Rodney McKay, though I’m sure you already know that. I’m the man of this house, though sometimes with Jennifer, you wouldn’t know it. Don’t tell her I said that either.”

John rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you are sworn to secrecy. Anyway, I’m a scientist at the University of Marquette. Over there,” he points vaguely out the window. “Natural philosophy mostly - the more physical branches: mathematics, physics. I built the machine that Jennifer used to take a picture of your leg. It uses radioactive atoms that produce waves of energy, like light, but not light, to pass through tissue to develop a film and show a picture. Different densities will allow more waves through, which will expose the film differently and show us a picture. Brilliant, isn’t it? Though I don’t expect you to understand me.”

 _I understand you,_  John writes.

The man eyes John skeptically, but continues. “Good for you.” He looks at the mark of permanent indenture on John’s arm, noticing it for the first time. “Though strange for Jennifer to purchase an indenture with any intelligence. An indenture with such neat script is almost impossible to find. Though with the damage to your leg, I imagine you were cheap.”

John nods, writing,  _She gave him the small light you made for her._

“Well, there you go. See how much my wife values anniversary presents. Though you do write well and without any major grammatical failings. You could be useful. How did a man with such an education get to be a permanent indenture?”

John shrugs. He’s not sure how much he’s supposed to tell Rodney about his purchase or the little he does remember before it. He certainly doesn’t want to spoil Jennifer’s surprise that she is gifting John to Rodney or risk becoming a body servant before he is fully healed.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Rodney assumes. “That’s okay. What about science? How much do you know?”

John shrugs again.

“Okay, maybe math. 19,257. Prime or not prime?”

John can’t even remember his last name, but somehow he instinctually knows.  _Divisible by 3_ , he writes.

Rodney smiles. “That was too easy. 599,131”

_Divisible by 13._

“13,421.”

That took John slightly longer, but he eventually writes,  _Prime._

“Excellent! You’re not a complete moron.” John blushes under Rodney’s happy scrutiny. This is the first time he can remember than anyone has ever been proud of him.

Rodney looks contemplative. “If you are going to be chained to the bed for however long it takes that monstrosity,” he points to the contraption surround John’s leg, “to fix you, you should have something to do. I’ll bring you some books tomorrow. Maybe if I can get you up to speed you can grade papers for me.” He leaves John with the pen, but takes the paper away. John frowns. The paper and the conversation with Rodney had been distracting John from the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Rodney looks sympathetic. “But my wife can’t know I was here. I’m not allowed in her lab uninvited. I just came over here because I needed an extra set of hands and I thought Ronon or Marie would be around. I forgot that on Thursdays Ronon takes the indentures for a run around the property.”

John puts his finger to his lips, miming that he would keep Rodney’s secret. Maybe if he’s good enough with his work, Rodney would rather have him and an assistant than a body servant.

Rodney grins at him, before pulling out the cocaine to give John another dose. “This should hold you until Ronon gets back and now that I think about it, my wife did mention something about a housecall, but I don’t allow her out without Ronon to escort her after dark, so it won’t be long before she can check on you.”

John wants to remind him to bring the books, but Rodney is already gone down the staircase before John realizes that without paper to write on, there is no way he can remind him. Even though John doesn’t remember much, he is starting to come to the opinion that in his old life, he wasn’t a person who enjoyed being at the mercy of others. He certainly finds it frustrating enough now.

He relaxes, letting the jittery euphoria of the cocaine wash over him. Jennifer is fixing his leg and tomorrow Rodney will bring him books. Yes, he’s trapped in a bed with little memory of himself, owned by a couple who intends to use him as a sex toy, but despite what Doctor Beckett said, John can hardly imagine the smart, compassionate, talkative man who had been proud of him ever being sexually abusive.

“What are you smiling about?” Ronon grumbles when he returns, sweaty from his run.

John likes having his muteness as an excuse to not explain.


End file.
